


Sometimes All One Needs is Time

by DarkLadyEris



Series: Harry Potter One-shot Collection [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Family, Female Harry Potter, Final Battle, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Master of Death, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spring is for Lovers (FFfPL Quote Fest), Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkLadyEris/pseuds/DarkLadyEris
Summary: Though lovers be lost love shall not;And death shall have no dominion.





	Sometimes All One Needs is Time

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SpringIsForLovers_FFfPLQuoteFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SpringIsForLovers_FFfPLQuoteFest) collection. 



The feeling of a strange emptiness inside of her chest was new and no matter how much Harry Potter rubbed at the spot, it wouldn’t go away. It only increased slowly with every passing minute while she lay in the hospital bed of Hogwart’s Medical Wing, seemingly recovering from her duel with the Dark Lord. Objectively, she knew she was in shock - Hermione, loving, protective Hermione, had explained so while she hustled the young witch from the Great Hall to the wing. Upon their arrival, Madam Pomfrey had hugged her tight, trembling softly, before bustling the savior of the British Wizarding World onto her personalized bed - complete with a plaque with her name engraved on it above it - before she continued to help the injured and dying brought in by others. Hermione had wandered away to hug Ron in relief, the two standing off to the side simply holding onto each other. The sense of overwhelming relief changed, however, when George Weasley carried in the body of his twin. 

The next hour had the entire Weasley brood, Charlie, and Bill (who had left his own bed to mourn with his family) too, gathering together around the body of Fred, some silently, others openly weeping, mourned the loss of one of their own. Throughout the entire time, Harry lay silent on her bed, occasionally staring at the Weasley family, other times, her attention drifting to the ceiling while she merely laid there in silence. Beside her, having been a constant company that she had ignored for the past several hours since waking up in the Forest to Narcissa Malfoy kneeling beside her, the entity known as Death hadn’t said a word other than to greet her. The being merely hovered near her bed, the cape just a few inches off the ground, though tattered and blood-stained that it was. No one else, not even Hermione or the Dark Lord had been able to see her company. It had been Death placing his hand on hers during the final duel that had given her magic the extra umph it had needed to overpower and defeat the Dark Lord, sending his own curse back to him again but this time permanently. Harry had watched, the beginnings of shock creeping in, as Death glided over to the prone figure before reaching a hand into the dead man’s chest and pulling out a glowing white orb. It had simply been a matter of Death eating the soul as she had come to realize, similar to a Dementor. 

Now, lying prone in the bed, her silent company still floating beside her, she finally addressed the being. “Can he be brought back?” She asked softly, making sure her voice didn’t carry above a whisper.

“A price must be paid for the return of one lost.” Death replied ominously.

Harry merely rolled her head to stare at it, internal emptiness only growing. “I have delivered you the last of Voldemort as well as my own soul. That should be payment enough.”

A soft huffing sound drew her eyes to the open blackness underneath the head of the cloak it wore, obscuring any features from view. It took her a long moment to realize it was laughing. “Very well my master.” It raised its sleeve, as a bit finger became visible before it touched the blade of its scythe which had hung loosely in its other hand. As soon as the finger reached the sharp end of the blade, there was a sudden scream coming from the Weasley area as the body of Fred suddenly arched before he was breathing again. 

Harry watched, feeling apathetic yet knowing she should be feeling something about the fact that Death had just brought someone back to life. Madam Pomfrey had run over after the first scream and had begun casting spells over the body.

Hermione and Ron, both still holding onto each other but slightly separate from the group, had their mouths hanging open in surprise. When Fred’s eyes opened slowly, looking hazy, it took a moment as if he was unused to such a motion before he turned his head to look at his twin, who had been kneeling next to his bed. Without saying a word, he merely motioned with a hand and George flung himself to hug his twin. 

The rest of the family had seemed in shock - minus the initial screams - and it was only George’s moment that seemed to kick everyone into high gear, shouting and yelling and crying alternately.

Harry’s attention wandered back up to the ceiling, where it stayed until a tentative hand touched her arm, drawing her attention to Hermione who had come back to her bed. It took a moment for the young Master of Death to refocus back on her surroundings to realize that the entire Weasley brood plus Madam Pomfrey was staring at her. Another soft touch to her arm had her turning to stare back at her female best friend. “Harry, Fred said you did something. What did you do?” her tone was inquisitive rather than accusing and it took Harry a moment for her question to register. 

“Had a choice. Chose Fred.” She answered back softly, blinking lightly.

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand as the tears began building in her intelligent brown eyes, “Harry, what did you do? Everything has a payment.”

“Gave up my soul when I died. Death owed me someone else's.” She answered before the ceiling drew her attention again.

Hermione’s choked sob before the sound of her chair scraping on the floor and the soft footfall rushing away meant that she had run back over to Ron.

It took several moments, a few heated exchanges before a freckled face joined by a matching one entered her vision as she focused on the twins, Fred having climbed out of his bed, to come to her. George, gentle, sweet George, grasped her hand tightly, murmuring thanks under his breath as he stood down next to her. Fred, the harsher, rougher twin, stared hard at her for a moment before placing a kiss to her forehead and joining her on the small hospital bed, squishing her against George who climbed in after his twin.

The witch blinked several times before deciding it would be too much of an effort to ask why they had climbed in and closed her eyes, slowly slipping into sleep.

Even after the weeks began drifting by, the whole in Harry’s chest never went away. Instead, a familiar triangle-circle-line inked itself into the skin above her heart. Her family had come together and after a brief fight between _Ron &Hermione_ versus _Fred &George_, it was decided that the twins would help care for her though it didn't stop her two best friends from visiting almost every other day, mostly in an attempt to get her back to her normal self.

She knew instinctively that the trance-like state she was in went how she had behaved beforehand and yet, she could barely muster up the energy to care. Some mornings one of the twins would have to bodily lift her out of bed and carry her to the living room. Otherwise, she would mindlessly lay on the bed, mind blank or she would sleep for hours, or even days, waking up only to eat the bare minimum or to bath at the twins urgency.

Her blank stare, which used to be so full of life but was now so empty. It unnerved whoever would visit her and often insured visits were short. The only difference being Fred and George who would merely smile once, pat her on the head before including her in whatever activity they were engaged in. 

Time had no meaning for the witch who willingly greeted death like an old friend. Months passed in a similar fashion and while others began whispering about clinical depression and therapy, the twins would wait until whoever it began being too pushy before using their many party favors and prank equipment to get whoever had overstayed their welcome to leave.

Which was why, on a cloudy Tuesday morning, George opened his eyes, squinting at the ceiling for a moment as the most tantalizing smells drifted in his bedroom, reminding him of childhood days living in the Burrow. Fred certainly couldn’t cook to save his life - George couldn’t either for the most part. They typically hired someone to bring in a week’s worth of pre-made meals for them so they could concentrate on inventing.

The one-minute older twin sat up, chancing a glance to see his twin waking up as well. They shared a confused glance before the older twin threw the duvet off of his body, climbing out of bed and leaving their shared bedroom, his twin right behind him. He stopped dead in the doorway from the hallway to the living spaces, blinking in surprise at seeing a lively Harry cooking a full English breakfast in the kitchen. Her hair was clean and pulled up into a ponytail while she was dressed in a clean shirt borrowed from one of them and shorts along with matching white socks. A soft tune was being hummed under her breath as she cooked, looking completely changed from the nearly comatose young woman they had been caring for the past months.

Fred pushed from behind, forcing him to step into the room before his twin made his way to the young woman who hadn’t yet realized they were in the room. Copying Gred’s cues, Feorge went opposite of his twin to lean against the counter that currently held the ingredients for a full omelet on it. His physical other half leaned against their cold cupboard, flashing a stunning smile at the witch who jumped in surprise at their appearance. She took a moment to stare at Fred before turning her head to look at George, who sent her an equally stunning smile. 

Her expression changed from a pinched look to a relaxed one, eyes dropping down to the breakfast she was almost finished creating. “Thank you for taking care of me.” She murmured under her breath as she began to turn the stove top off, placing food on to ready plates beside her. Fred leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for everything you have done for the wizarding world - and for myself.”

He reached over, taking the plate from her hands and began placing the three omelets on the plates. George, not one who liked to be outdone, stepped away from the counter to press a kiss to her forehead, before ushering her to sit down, smiling at her flushed face. “Thank you for bringing me my other half. I would not have lasted without him.” 

After a few minutes of bringing everything Harry had cooked to the table, they finally sat down at the small square table and began filling up their plates with rashers, fried bread, sausage patties, grilled tomatoes, grilled kippers and a glass of juice to go with it. with it all. The peaceful companionship between the three was something wholesome and relaxing and George couldn’t help but look forward to the future.

He had his twin alive and well - their bond back to the way it was before Fred passed - and the amazingly kind-hearted young woman who could easily classify as a national hero and the woman they owed their very lives - and hearts - too. They still had many more hurdles to overcome - depression wasn’t cured in a day but it was a great start for her. He shared a knowing look with his twin. The moment Fred had confided in him exactly what Harry had saved him from - at the personal cost of her own soul - they had both agreed that they would do whatever it took for the rest of their entire lives to make sure she was well-cared for. They remembered the bars on her window as a child, the surprised but overwhelmed look at receiving her first Weasley jumper, the first time their mum hugged her. They would do anything and everything in their power - and then some to ensure that she would never feel unwanted, unappreciated, or forgotten again.

He took a bite of his breakfast, she had done everything for them and now it was their turn.


End file.
